


Clair de Lune

by nothingwithoutyouxo



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Musical Instruments, Post-IT (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingwithoutyouxo/pseuds/nothingwithoutyouxo
Summary: Bill didn’t like being by himself, and while that didn’t matter all that much during the day when he could be with his friends, it made nights difficult. The last thing he expected was Beverly to show up.(Also known as Richie is busy and Beverly needs someone to be there.)
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Beverly Marsh
Kudos: 8





	Clair de Lune

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've never written a fic for this fandom, and I'm new to these characters but this just kind of happened. Timeline wise we're throwing canon to the wind but it's after the events It: Chapter One, approximately late fall/winter. The title is a Debussy piece cause I'm basic.

Bill didn’t like being idle anymore. Not since Georgie. He also didn’t like being by himself, and while that didn’t matter all that much during the day when he could be with his friends, it made nights difficult. It didn’t help when his parents decided to leave him by himself for the weekend while they went on vacation. Not even talking to him about it until they were packing their bags. Bill didn’t know if he was angry at them or just disappointed. In any case, it made the night even worse, and he hadn’t been sure that was possible.

The house was too big, and it felt far too empty when only he was in it. There was too much space and not enough  _ noise _ and he was starting to run out of distractions. He startled when there was a soft knock on his front door. After everything, Bill couldn’t help but feel an immediate sense of worry about what it could mean, but he only hesitated for a cautious second before answering the door.

It was late, and there was a cold wind blowing strongly down the street. The trees were only lit up by the moon above them. Whatever Bill had been expecting, it wasn’t for Beverly to be on his front porch. She had her arms wrapped around herself, the thin jacket she was wearing not doing much to protect her from the cold. Bill wasn’t sure what to think. This wasn’t something she’d ever done before. Usually if she needed to turn to someone she would go to –

“Richie’s busy,” she muttered, a certain edge to her voice that sounded an awful lot like fear. “I just – “ her eyes flicked up and down the street absently, as if she was worried there was someone watching her. “I needed to be somewhere that isn’t – “  _ home _ .

So, this was about her dad then. Something that they all knew about in some way, but never spoke about directly, something horrible. Bill nodded and quickly stepped aside to let her in. He couldn’t help but glance up and down the street himself before closing the door behind her.

“My parents are - aren’t home,” he said. Beverly immediately froze up, eyes falling to the floor. “So you’re safe here.”

A small smile tugged at her lips, and he couldn’t help but note the  _ relief  _ in her expression. “Thank you.” 

Bill didn’t know where to start, just that he couldn’t ask about it. What did Richie do in these situations? Commit to his usual jokes to try and make light of it all? Did that work?

Beverly shivered, trying her best to suppress it and his protective instinct kicked in.

“You’re cold,” he muttered.

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Bill tapped her arm gently and then led her quickly to the living room, her soft footsteps following behind him. He picked a blanket up off the couch and offered it to her. When she didn’t take it, he gently wrapped it around her shoulders, successfully cocooning her in it.

Her eyes locked with his for just a second before falling to the floor again, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Thanks.”

“You can – sit down,” he said, because there was a silence growing already and he couldn’t stand it.

Beverly smiled at him again and took a careful seat on the couch, crossing her legs under herself as she did so. Effectively it made her smaller and she burrowed into the blanket even more. Bill took a seat next to her and tried to think what to do next. There was nothing on TV at this time but maybe the background noise would help.

He watched as Beverly glanced around the room, eyes taking in everything from the carefully placed family photos on the walls to the ornate detailing of the ceiling. He couldn’t help but think it was kind of weird that she hadn’t been in his house yet, but really none of them spent time in each other’s houses. They were far too busy biking the length of town as if that was its own adventure.

“I like it here,” she said, her voice softer now, calmer even. “It’s warm.”

Bill wasn’t sure what to take from that. He was so used to his own house that he had no idea how it appeared to other people. “That could – could be the blanket.”

It wasn’t quite a joke, but it made her laugh and that was worth it. Beverly snuck a hand out from under the blanket to nudge at his side. “That’s not what I meant, dummy,” she teased.

He just shrugged in response, trying not to laugh as well.

Beverly smiled to herself for a few more moments before getting up and pacing carefully around the room. She seemed to be exploring more than anything else, her hand dusting lightly over book spines that stood on shelves.

“What’s this?” she asked, hand hovering over a model ship his dad had made a few years back that was resting on the mantelpiece. Bill had to fight off the immediate association, and she must have seen something in his expression because she took a step back. “I’m sorry. Should I have asked to – “

He shook his head, standing up and joining her. “No, you can – of course you can look. It’s – my – my dad makes them.” He wasn’t sure why it was so hard for him to say. He wished it wasn’t.

“The whole thing?”

“Yeah. He gets the wood and – and there’s lots of glue and he – he hands paints them all.” He wondered briefly if he made it sound cooler than it was, but maybe that was because he didn’t mention the way his dad would snap at him if he so much as came near one of them while they were being built.

“Have you ever made one?”

He swallowed. “Once. With my – “  _ brother _ .

Beverly’s eyes turned sad. “With Georgie?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze fell to the floor again, the toe of her shoe scuffing at the rug.

Amongst a wave of courage, Bill tapped her arm. “I can – show you it,” he muttered, and instantly felt reassured by the way her eyes lit up, just slightly.

The den wasn’t somewhere he ventured into often. It was more his mother’s space, but with her gone for the moment he found the courage to cross the room and point at the very small ship that he and Georgie had managed to build between then two of them. The sails were a little crooked, but they’d been proud when they finished. It had been a good day, and he tried his best to hang onto that feeling as he looked at it.

“I can tell you painted it,” Beverly teased, smiling.

Bill couldn’t help but laugh. He had no way to justify how it turned out, just that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Looking at the ship now, he probably shouldn’t have let Georgie choose what colours they were going to use based on what letter of the alphabet he liked that day.

“You have a piano?”

Bill snapped away from his thoughts. Beverly’s eyes were now trained on the piano that resided in one corner of the room. It wasn’t really something that she could miss, just something else that belonged to his mum. At her request, he’d grown up playing it, which wasn’t something that he ever really talked about. It didn’t seem to matter, it was just something that he took lessons for a few days a week after school. He hadn’t touched it since Georgie disappeared, the sound of it reminded him too much of that morning.

He swallowed, trying to force the thoughts away. “Yes.”

“Do you play?”

Her tone was tentative, as if she could sense this was a hard topic, but her eyes were hopeful, and Bill couldn’t bring himself to crush that when she’d been so shaken. “I - I used to.”

The next question went without saying, and even though Beverly didn’t voice it, Bill heard it. The fear had crept back into her eyes, living on the fringes. He was walking towards the piano before he even realised it, not waiting for her to follow.

It had been a few months, and even just being in front of the instrument felt eerie within itself, but he took a seat and a deep breath along with it. When Beverly sat down next to him, he felt a little better. This was for her, and he could manage that. Bill’s hands paused over the keys as he tried to think of something to play. His mind was a mess already and he needed to find something in the haze. The feeling of Beverly’s eyes on him was making this more difficult than it should have been.

“It’s been a while,” he muttered, as if he owed her an explanation. 

She just nodded in response. Slowly, Beverly reached a hand towards the keys, gently pressing down on one. The sound of it made her jump back as if she hadn’t expected it, and she laughed.

He almost laughed too, but the note had brought up a memory, a piece that he’d played into the ground. It was a little somber but melodic. It was a little like her. He could work with that. Playing was almost subconscious, the piece flooding back to him with careful precision, and maybe he found that a little reassuring as his fingers ghosted over the keys. 

When Beverly rested her head absently against his shoulder it was enough for him to mess up a few notes. Not that she seemed to notice.

“You’re good at this,” she said.

“I’ve had lessons for – years.”

She smiled. “Not that. You’re good at being calming.”

Bill wasn’t sure what to think. It wasn’t something he’d ever been told before. The piece came to an end and the room fell silent. He wondered if he should play something else or if the moment was over. Once again, he found his thoughts creeping back to:  _ what would Richie do? _

Beverly sat up, shifting so there was more space between them. “I’m sorry.”

He startled, confused as to why she would need to apologise. “No - no, don’t be. I just -” he wished he’d figured out what he was trying to say. He didn’t know what he was doing, or how to help her.

She poked at one of the keys again, not quite pressing down on it. “You’re good at the playing part too.”

Bill laughed, which made her smile. “Eight years,” he explained. “Of lessons.”

“Why did you stop?”

His smile fell, the mood in the room shifting. At the very least it gave Beverly her answer. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Bill was struck by how the tables had turned to her comforting him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, any of it. Beverly was halfway through an apology when he shook his head. 

“It’s ok.” Or at least, it would be one day. Maybe.

Her hand dropped from his shoulder, twisting in the blanket instead. The silence pressed against them and Bill tried desperately to think of  _ anything  _ that would make this feel ok again.

“Can you teach me?” Beverly asked, her tone lighter than he’d ever heard from her before, cautious. Her eyes stayed trained on the keys. 

Bill hadn’t taught anyone to play before, not really. He wasn’t sure if he was confident enough in his own skill - if he could call it that - to be able to. Even so, he found himself saying, “I can - try.”

She smiled, stabbed at one of the keys. “Is that a ‘C’?”

He shook his head, pressing down on Middle C. “Everything starts from - here.”

The two of them had no concept of time passing around them, not that it mattered at this point. Bill only brushed over the notes briefly, as long as Beverly could tell where they were he didn’t mind if she could name them. She didn’t need all that many to play the short piece he taught her, a nursery rhyme that was familiar enough from when they were little. It was the first piece he ever learned. 

It was kind of calming in a methodical way, watching as Beverly cycled through the same notes until she could play it through in time, humming the words under her breath to match the notes. She’d adjusted the blanket at some point so it was resting across both of their shoulders, locking them in with a warmth that was so often lacking in her life. 

“That’s it?” she asked, as if she was surprised that she could handle the sixteen bars. 

He nodded. “That’s it.”

“So if I just do this for eight years then I’ll be as good as you?” 

She was teasing, the spark in her eyes finally back. Bill couldn’t up with a quip quick enough so he just smiled instead. “You have to - practice.”

“Easy enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just feel like people should do more with the fact that Bill has a canon piano in his house, you know?  
> Anyways, y'all can find me over on [Tumblr](http://stranger-awakening.tumblr.com) if you like!!


End file.
